I write quite a bit about the past.

I used to think this was a weakness, exposing my inability to deal with the present. Of course, everything we read or watch or listen to is an element of the past. Even a live performance is nothing but an example of a past creation.

So, here I go again, but with a twist. It won’t be merely an exposition of how wonderful life was in the sixties or seventies, and that the 21st Century sucks. In fact, I intend to help you remember a life that had its shortcomings.

So here goes.

In 1956, on my sixth birthday, I received a Roy Rogers gun-and-holster set. My Uncle Al worked for Railway Express, which, to the younger reader, was the UPS of its day. One of the places that was on his route was Yankee Stadium. As such, he had easy access to the confines of the Stadium, including the clubhouse.

Because it was my birthday, and because he was my Godfather, he asked around for something special for his nephew’s birthday. My two older brothers, Johnny and Michael, were big Yankee fans and loved Mickey Mantle. I followed their lead and loved Mickey too. Uncle Al told somebody in the clubhouse this, and he got Mickey to autograph a real Yankee hat. This was the real thing, no felt NY glued on to the crown but the genuine sewn, interlocking NY.

Seventy years later, I still get goosebumps.

Nevertheless, this was not the most exciting gift that I got on this day of days. On June 23rd, 1956, my family got its first fan! It had Cool Home emblazoned on a metal plate affixed to the outside grill and that fan lasted at least thirty years.

Air conditioning had not yet been introduced to Leland Avenue, and we had to settle for a fan blowing hot air on our perspiring bodies. How delightful!

As I grew older and began working in the mail room at Lorillard Corp, I had to take the IRT 6 train from Parkchester to 125th Street, where I transferred to the IRT 4 or 5. I would make the transfer because it was an express train and got to 42nd Street Grand Central Station a full seven minutes before the local number 6.

The one glorious feature that all subways shared in those days was ceiling fans that pushed even hotter air than street-level air.

The other delight was that when you got to 125th Street, you had to run across the platform to the waiting 4 or 5. Most days I just about got into the car having been able to purchases just enough floor space to get both feet situated for the ride. Of course, by the time the doors closed, I would often be halfway in the car, having been pushed forward like I had boarded a Tokyo Bullet Train.

It got so hot that the Wall Street executives had black smudges all over their hands from reading that day’s New York Times.

By the time I got to Grand Central, I was a soaking mess, like someone whose shower just didn’t take.

Getting to street level provided the next best thing to a breath of cool, clean air…but, in truth, it was neither.

Fortunately, I only had a two-block walk to the Lorillard Building. Going through its glass doors and hearing the water fall and smelling the delightful, cool, and crisp air, I was ready to make my rounds with the daily mail and talk to the secretaries. Even if I had to traipse up Fifth Avenue for a delivery, I knew I would shortly return to the welcoming experience of sorting mail and keeping cool.

Today, we take air conditioning for granted and only notice when it is not available, either due to a storm or a mechanical issue.

So, instead of complaining about the state of America (as I have been trying to do), just sit back and enjoy the coolness provided by the AC box in your window or in your car.